


The Medals

by Aviantei



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Pilot Fic, Twelve Shots of Summer, Twelve Shots of Summer: Second Raid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-15 00:44:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21244718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviantei/pseuds/Aviantei
Summary: [One Shot] "You never told me why you wanted to be promoted so badly anyway." [UriexOC] [Twelve Shots of Summer: Second Raid]





	The Medals

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot was originally posted on fanfiction.net on June 27, 2015. It was written for the [Twelve Shots of Summer: Second Raid]'s week four prompt, "Valiant." I just wanted an excuse to mess around with Mori, and OC that I plan to make a proper length fic with eventually. Also I love Urie so (shrug).
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**The Medals **

By: Aviantei

A _Tokyo Ghoul:re_ One Shot

[Twelve Shots of Summer Second Raid 4/12]

* * *

“You should cheer up. You got a promotion, after all!”

Mori leans in beside him, smiling, lightly nudging an elbow into his side, and the only thing stopping Urie Kuki from shoving her off him is the possibility of losing face. Given that—she’s right, he’s just been promoted, _Investigator First Class_—this isn’t the time for that, he avoids her gaze, staring uninterestedly at the wall on the other end of the banquet hall.

“Your uniform looks super good on you, too,” Mori continues. She looks him over, sizing him up. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you in it, actually. Well, definitely not going to complain about that one.” As always, she’s not hiding what she’s really thinking about.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Urie growls, when what he’s really thinking is _(Are you really that desperate?)_

Mori laughs, straightening up, posture perfect. “Nope, no one better to do,” she answers, and it’s not a slip of the tongue. He hates that about her. “Besides, that sort of thing is what parties are for, right? Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite.” She frowns, finally, but doesn’t lose interest. “You don’t seem all too happy. You got the Osmanthus reward, too, right? I figured that’d be right up your alley.”

And then, with that same determination that manages to drag him off to corners of the office, to bedrooms, to anywhere private really, Mori adds, “You never told me why you wanted to be promoted so badly anyway.”

That’s the one thing they hold in common. It’s why she’s the way she is and he’s the way he is. Promotion and merit. Those are the driving forces.

On the verge of rolling his eyes, Urie grabs onto her wrist, not rough but with purpose. “Why don’t we figure out something else you can do with your mouth than run it,” he says, keeping his voice low.

And under that, he means _(I’d rather play along with you than have you ask questions like that)_.

* * *

He doesn’t know what room he drags her to, just that it’s deserted. Urie settles against the wall, and Mori’s in front of him, an unusual distance between them, one she doesn’t tend to allow. Her hand reaches up, almost hesitant, brushing against the emblems on Urie’s chest.

“You didn’t tell me,” she whispers, smiling almost sadly. It’s not pity, but it doesn’t make him feel any less sick. Urie says nothing, adamantly refusing to answer. Mori’s hand trails down his chest, but it’s not the sensual motion he’s come to expect. “For me, it’s because I’m weak,” she says, and Urie doesn’t know what to say about that.

“All of them, medals and titles. They make you seem stronger, don’t they?” Mori’s other hand taps at her own emblems, slowly, nails clicking on metal. “At least, no one thinks you’re weak that way, if you have enough of these.” She looks up, making eye contact. “Is that what they mean to you? That you’re brave?” Both her hands drop to her sides, hanging. “Because that’s what they mean to me.”

Urie grits his teeth and takes hold of her arms, dragging them towards him. “You’re pathetic,” he growls, submerging a hand in her hair, dislodging her bun. “That’s not what they mean at all.”

And he ends the conversation, crushing their lips together, and Mori finally responds with the energy and vigor he’s used to.

* * *

The ceremony passes, and work settles in, which is fine with Urie, and the Rose case starts, bringing things back to focus.

_Investigate. Catch the ghoul. Get promoted. Go on to the next one._ It’s been his mantra for the longest time, but Urie knows that part of him is wavering. It wasn’t much, but at least before he felt accomplishment. The new rank and addition to his reputation have done nothing to improve his mood, and the rest of the Qs can only watch as his attitude worsens.

“If you keep spacing out like that I’ll catch him first,” Mori taunts at one strategy meeting. Given the scale of the target, the number of the Investigators is higher than ever, forcing more necessities of teamwork and the like. Mori doesn’t push her usual intentions, instead giving a short wave before heading off to confer with her fellow squad members.

Except it’s not “we’ll catch him first,” it’s _I’ll_. _I’ll_ do it, she’s telling him. With Mori it’s always _I_ unless she’s in bed with someone.

Except when she’s talking about him.

_You didn’t tell me,_ she whispers, almost accusing.

“Who gives a shit,” Urie grumbles, pulling his jacket on. “I’ll just have to catch him instead.”

* * *

As much as Urie would like to work solo, he knows that’s not a feasible option, and so splits off with Mutsuki. More and more clues pile up, and while progress is progress, Urie works harder than usual, the problem with his recent promotion obvious.

_(I got beaten out by Suzuya, by Kuroiwa, so I just have to be better this time.)_

Once there’s a lead, the Qs get partnered up with Mori’s team to investigate deeper. Urie detests the numbers out of principle, but it turns out to be handy when there’s an unexpected number of ghouls waiting for them.

“You’re getting worse,” Mori says after the fight, and it’s not a taunt. She wipes blood way from her lips, doesn’t even flinch at her bruises and scars. Urie is sturdier thanks to his quinque implant, and is much less battered. “Don’t get all pissy on me,” she warns. “I’m just telling you what I saw.”

Urie hardly acknowledges it. With his improvements with the fourth frame, he feels better than ever. “Then don’t take your shit out on me,” he returns, and Mori scowls. Urie smirks a bit, just a little. “What, you didn’t get turned on over that? I thought you liked power.”

_(I’m not getting in anyone’s way. Stop getting in mine.)_

There’s no one within earshot, which Urie supposes is a good thing. The last thing he needs is someone like Shirazu to get wind of the fact that they’ve been sleeping around. The Quinx Squad will never stop hearing about it. But even if someone did hear, Urie realizes he wouldn’t care.

Part of him expects Mori to blow up, with how her jaw sets, the tips of her ears turning red. She closes her eyes, inhales through her nose. “I think that’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to taking initiative,” she says, the barb obvious. “Sure,” she says, sounding impatient. “Sure. Fine. You’re right, we’re not supposed to talk about our problems. So file your report so we can fuck and get it over with.”

But he can hear the tremble in her voice.

* * *

The next fight isn’t as easy, but it isn’t at as awful odds as it was at the auction. Higher and higher ranked ghouls are coming out of the cracks, but the potential leads are too many, so the squads have to split up. Mori offers to be Urie’s partner, and Shirazu almost has a conniption when his teammate doesn’t object.

Except they get cornered. Mori’s a competent fighter _(She’s not all talk)_, and Urie wouldn’t worry about her anyways. He just focuses on taking out the enemy, wondering how many more it’ll take until he gets recognized, gets the credit he deserves.

There’s a movement at the corner of his eye, and it’s not Mori, not a ghoul, not even a civilian. But it’s there, the distinct figure of a person, his back turned, unaffected by the fighting around him.

And when the fighting’s over, the figure’s gone, but someone was definitely there before.

“Who were you protecting?” Mori asks, and her voice sounds more worn out than before, more tired of putting up with him.

* * *

_Who were you protecting?_ she asks.

Because Mori Nana knows it isn’t her.

* * *

Mori hates the feeling in her stomach, in her chest, because she knows how this goes.

She hasn’t slept around with anyone else for weeks. She hasn’t wanted to. She watches him, knows she’s getting attached, and in the way she doesn’t want. She’s sick of it, because she knows she won’t be able to stand being around him anymore. She hates herself for being flawed.

She hates watching him because she knows that Urie’s getting worse.

* * *

Mori stops Urie at the door, before they can leave the CCG. The pressure from higher up is only getting deeper, but the Rose case has more red herrings than any reasonable flock of birds and even the combined efforts of multiple squads is getting nowhere.

“You need to talk to someone,” she says, trying not to let her fingers twitch against Urie’s shoulder. “I don’t care who, and I don’t know if it has something to do with your implant, but something’s _wrong_.” Urie gives her his blank stare, and part of her remembers he’s only twenty, still young enough to be considered a kid. Mori scowls. “If you don’t do something, _I_ will, and I’m willing to bet I have enough connections to take you off duty.”

Urie’s right arm tenses, a movement Mori’s seen plenty of times during battle. She clenches the handle of her quinque harder. “Mind your own business,” he snaps. “If you want to waste time on this, fine. I’ll be working on the investigation.” And he stalks out without her.

_You are my business,_ she almost responds, but she knows it’s a lie. He isn’t her business. He’s not even her partner, no matter how many times they’ve worked together. They’re colleagues in the vaguest sense. Their sex isn’t intimate enough to be called lovers.

And yet, that honesty he gives her without realizing, that honesty he doesn’t give anyone else…

“I’m the one with something wrong,” Mori mutters.

* * *

Mori doesn’t remember how they got into combat (she hardly ever does), but she does know she can’t stop watching him.

It isn’t a pure distraction. If she’s attacked, she can dodge. If there’s an opening, she can take it. The Rose case concludes, the next investigation starts. Bigger and bigger squads are needed are Aogiri Tree and the Pierrot start to make bolder moves, and everything seems to be getting worse.

Urie’s proficiency with his kagune has increased. He’s nowhere near as crazed as he was before, like was reported when he first got it. His cold efficiency is back, sharper than ever. He gains more praise for his efforts, and maybe he has another promotion coming his way. Mori feels uncertainty at that.

_I don’t want to lose._

_I want to be stronger, too, you know…!_

She should be focusing on her own efforts but she can’t. Because something else is driving Urie now, something he glances over his shoulder for, something he’s keeping track of when he fights. And maybe because of how much time she’s spent staring him down, watching him in combat for that adrenaline rush, she can tell just how little he’s looking at everyone else.

* * *

“_Hey, snap out of it!_”

Mori’s hand is rough on his shoulder, straining her manicured nails with an almost inaudible creak. Urie blinks and finally sees her. Everyone else has moved on, but she’s vibrant with anger, seething with a reflection of insecurity that Urie abandoned in himself a while ago.

Seeing it again is disgusting. So is seeing it in her.

“You’re seeing someone,” she says, her tone getting dangerous. Where she’s going is obvious.

“I don’t have to do a damn thing,” he snaps back, shrugging her hand off. He wants to go home, but Mori captures his arm again easily, her bones whining with the required pressure.

“I wasn’t asking!” she shouts, and several other investigators glance their way. _(It’s what she wants,)_ he realizes, and glowers. “I’m tired of watching you lose it. I want to know just what the hell you’re hallucinating about!”

“Hey now,” someone interjects, and it’s Haise, trying to play mediator. “What’s going on here?” He’s concerned, playing the role Urie doesn’t want, he’s been trying to avoid. “Urie, you never said anything—”

_“Stay out of it.”_

Their synchronization is rattling. Urie and Mori close their mouths, and he watches her expression flicker at some realization he can’t read. Then Mori catches herself, trying to look superior but just coming out concerned. “Just get it over with,” she presses. “I’m tired of this. I’m tired of you not wanting me. I’m tired of myself.” Mori breathes, that same way, with her eyes closed to compose herself, tries to smile. “Either listen to me or hate me so I can move on already.”

There’s a number of things she’s not saying. Urie knows how to tell. But Haise’s watching, worrying, and other investigators are coming closer, making it a bigger scene than necessary. He looks back to Mori, makes sure his voice is clear, makes sure she’ll regret every second of this moment.

“It’s my father.”

Her expression crumbles in an instant.

* * *

And just like that, Urie’s put under house arrest, and Mori doesn’t feel any better.

Plenty of kids grow up to be ghoul investigators after their parents die. It’s a system the CCG uses to get investigators with motivation. Mori isn’t one of them. She just wanted to be stronger so she joined the Academy, got the certifications.

But Urie…

She rings the doorbell to the Quinx Squad’s shared home, and Mutsuki opens the door, delegated to babysitting duty. Mori thanks him and walks in, taking the familiar path to Urie’s room, hesitating before she knocks on the door.

_I was never like this before._

“You’re pathetic,” Urie says when he opens the door, and all Mori can think to say in response is, “Yes.”

They look at each other, and Mori sees him as the scared kid, the one trying to protect his dead dad. Trying to make something of himself. “Before,” she whispers, “you were telling me what they meant, right?” She doesn’t care about the hallucinations anymore, probably never did. Urie’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t stop her. “The medals mean you would have been strong enough to save him.”

Mori feels awful when she realizes it. She’s absolutely shallow, and he’s losing it, and there’s really no point in them seeing each other when all they can do is tear each other apart. She’s tearing herself apart, wanting something more she’ll never be able to realize.

“You don’t want to touch me anymore, do you?” she asks, and prays that Urie’s answer will be yes.

But her prayer’s a lie, just like the god that fails to fulfil it.

* * *

They lie in bed afterwards, and Urie can tell how irregular her breath is. Mori cuddles up to his side like she’s cold. She’s talking to herself, the slightest whisper, but his ears can pick it up without even trying.

“I’m not…going to lose…”

It’s stupid. An obsessive determination. She sounds weak, but he knows she’ll go through with it. Once this business is settled, he’ll get back in the field, show her exactly what it takes to win.

* * *

“I’m not going to lose to you, either.”

_()_


End file.
